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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28318695">Lube, mutants and christmas</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narmie/pseuds/Narmie'>Narmie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Merry go around [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, M/M, Roommates, pinning</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:36:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,422</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28318695</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narmie/pseuds/Narmie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Weird things can happen on Christmas Eve</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Merry go around [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2050779</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Lube, mutants and christmas</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, I was supposed to post this yesterday, but I had too much of going on to pay attention to this. I hope you all are having good, relaxing and stress-free Holidays.<br/>Let's see if I can manage to write another one to this series. I hope you will enjoy this one though!<br/>PS: as someone who makes pierogis every year trust me that making the dough is the tricky part. Especially when my ma usually doesn’t use measurements</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>After Alex announced him, he was moving out because it was time for him to move forward and finally get an apartment with his long-term boyfriend, Armie was a bit unhappy about it. It wasn’t as if he and Alex went splendidly as roommates, but they were going along well enough to live together for 2 years. Armie counted it as a success. So it wasn’t like he felt bereft with Alex moving out. He just was reluctant with the ordeal of getting himself a new roommate. All in all, he wasn’t mourning the loss of Alex, he just didn’t like the incoming stress with finding the replacement. So when one of his co-workers, Will who Armie liked well enough to trust, said a good friend of his was looking for a room, Armie hadn’t hesitated much. If the guy was Will’s friend then he surely was a decent human being and they would get along. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Famous last words</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Or thoughts, in Armie’s case. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tim turned out to be a spastic, chaotical, and rambunctious kid. He didn’t know what personal space meant and he was always ready for cuddles. It was such a striking contrast to Alex, with whom Armie usually stayed out of the way, that at first he was startled. Not quite knowing how to react. He wasn’t a homophobe, he was bi for fuck’s sake. But having a roommate all of sudden that was all about touching, sharing and simply being around, was, to say the least unsettling. Even with Will explaining to him that Tim was a rather tactile person. So of course, Armie let it fester inside him until he exploded. It ended with them fighting, but at least boundaries were set. Eerily it allowed them to feel more at ease with each other. And the longer they were living together, the more they adjusted to one another. Or rather Armie settled with his new roommate and got used to his touchy proclivities. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>~~*~~</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Later on, Armie would notice that Tim not only was a chaotic mess, but he was inclined to rambling about the most random issues. Once, he caught Armie slicing some bananas on top of his pancakes, going from 1 to 60 how in fact we — humans — are all mutants. Because of the mutations occurring in our bodies</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our DNA is constantly changing and shortening,” he said, when Armie stopped mid-slice to look at him, bewildered and confused. Utterly lost what was the proper response to this. It turned out Tim didn’t need any response, he went on saying how every kid has about 38 new mutations compared to their parents. As he said it is roughly about 1 mutation per 83 millions of base pairs in every generation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Armie?! How fucking crazy is that?!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armie didn’t know how crazy, but he nodded in agreement.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or that time he went for a full lecture about blood-types when Armie was just trying to chill on the couch. As a piece of news, he said that kids sometimes were born having their mother’s type of blood, but it could change later, plunging himself next to Armie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s so fucked up” he concluded with his mouth full of stolen chips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet, when Armie asked why it was happening, he couldn’t explain, which resulted in him bringing his laptop on the couch and furiously scrolling through google-search pages. Coaxing Armie to make him some good-old cheese-toasties so he would eat something else than snacks before he shut Tim’s laptop and nudged him to lay down and watch the damn movie. Unsurprisingly, Tim went willingly, as it was usually the case with him, wrapping the blanket around himself, and leaning over Armie.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was also very prone to get fixated on things. Very randomly. The most remarkable was when he was going through all the M/M fanfics tagged fake/pretend relationships, being offended with using spit instead of lube. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is fucking ridiculous Armie” he exclaimed one time, marching into Armie’s bedroom like it was his room and throwing himself on the bed, uncared of rumpled sheets. “Look, look at that” swaying his hips to shove the phone into Armie’s face, and spending next couple of minutes ranting about how stupid it was, and if they really had to have penetrative anal sex (yes, indeed he used words ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>penetrative anal sex</span>
  </em>
  <span>’) they should have known better. He left after muttering ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>been there, done that</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ and that was all the answer Armie needed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Armie had been coping with his unexpected attraction to his roommate. Quite good even, if you wouldn’t count all the times he made a clumsy dumbass of himself in front of him. At least he still hadn’t been caught staring. Which, with the amount he had been doing it, was a success. But nothing could prepare Armie for this. The sudden fixation of Tim with yoga. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The constant lube talk?! He could deal with that. He had to just wait, albeit quite uncomfortable, for Tim to end his rant, before pulling one-off. But this?! This constant bending, twisting, pushing?! All in fucking leggins, clinging to his slim, long legs?! In a downward-facing dog, fuck you very much.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>~~*~~</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They are a couple of days away from Christmas. They are spending them together because of the virus and ekhem pandemic, but also not so great previous family-Christmas gatherings. At least in Armie’s case. They have already planned it. Because Tim wouldn’t let them to just pass them as any normal day. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s Christmas</span>
  </em>
  <span>! He said</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They have presents, they have a whole plan for the food they will make. They have some sort of weird Christmas tree decorated, which is basically a palm tree in the pot they already had, but with Christmas lights. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Go big or go home</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The plan for Christmas Eve is to order the fattiest pizza they will be able and watch Grinch. Because somehow for Tim it’s the best way to spend the evening. Frankly, Armie doesn’t much care about Christmas. But he is willing to do anything just to see those sparkles lighting up Tim’s eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It is all fine except Armie is slowly losing his mind. Whenever he goes he is almost sure to stumble on Tim in some weird-ass position, his curls tamed at the back of his head with a simple elastic band, accentuating his jawline. As if there even is a need for that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Plan for today is making ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>pierogies</span>
  </em>
  <span>’, something Tim proclaimed to love dearly and decided they will have to do. They have the recipe, how it will go the future will tell. But right now, Armie is stuck in the kitchen, his hip leaned over the counter, while he is watching Tim doing his 15-minutes yoga stretch. Which is completely obscene in Armie’s opinion, how he bends and pushes, how he raises his arms up, showing the delicious strip of milky skin, how his curls bounce because he opted against the elastic band this time. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The audacity</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A couple of minutes later they are both together in the kitchen, wearing matching Christmas aprons out of Tim’s insistence. The filling seems quite easy, or at least he thinks so, knowing from experience it’s all about proportions and spices. The dough, on the other hand, sounds too simple for his own liking, which means they can fuck it up royally. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the end, there are a lot of dirty bowls in the sink, cutlery scattered on the countertop and the little table they have alongside one of the walls, and flour in little amounts everywhere. ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Pierogies</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ are surprisingly good, maybe the dough is a bit too hard, but the filling is tasty, making up a bit for the rest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We will make it better later” Tim assures, “Reheating them on the pan and creating this amazing sort of crust” he adds, brushing his curls out of his face. Armie smiles at him sheepishly and moves to the sink, getting his hands on the dishes. Because even though his back aches a bit, he prefers to have it all cleaned up today. Tomorrow is Thursday, Christmas Eve, and they have a lot of things planned to do. Mostly baking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the dishwasher is loaded, humming in the background, they both fall down on the couch, groaning in unison. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is the perfect time for hot cocoa mugs” Tim starts, shifting a bit to face Armie “But I would rather die from dehydration than move right now”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh, I see we’ve already hit the drama queen phase” Armie teases, chuckling when Tim glares at him. Which he finds only cute and adorable. “Oh come on. Here” he manoeuvres them a bit, so Tim is leaning against his shoulder, he drapes a blanket over them and puts the tv on. They are out within the first twenty minutes of a random movie, Armie’s arms sneakily wrapped around Tim’s waist, nuzzling him closer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>~~*~~</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The 24th is nothing if not a mess of everything and nothing. They have their usual breakfast, but Tim’s excitement and eagerness are palpable. Making Armie unable to not react in kind, even though he really isn’t so into Christmas. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a shower, and in Armie’s case a furious wank because Tim insisted on getting his 20 minutes yoga practice in front of the tv, where Armie had a clear view of him, they have started baking muffins. Another thing Tim had on his ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>to do</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ list for Christmas. Armie knows exactly why he had never baked anything before — with a success that is — about twenty minutes later. Because it seems that baking for Tim means reading the recipe but not really following the steps or measurements. He doesn’t really care if it says 10 grams of sugar or that you are supposed to add the 240 ml of milk after the sugar dissolves in the butter. Armie can’t hold back the chuckle, when Tim refuses to use many tools like spoons or glasses, because ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>we will have to clean them all Armie</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ he says in his whiny voice, pouting a bit. Armie swats him away, bossing him around and saying what to do because otherwise, they will end with an inedible amount of muffins or cupcakes, and Armie has his regular sugar level intake and no one should mess with it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They end up sticky and tired, which Armie would love if that was the result of another activity, but he won’t complain. The muffins are quite tasty even without the icing. Having decided to just rest, they retreat to their own rooms and Armie falls asleep with his skin still tingling out of proximity with Tim through the day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wakes up one and half an hour later, soft, his hair messed up, his clothes rumpled. He feels a little bit fuzzy, not sure in which century he is. He scratches his stubble, walking into the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. Tim is sitting there, chewing on one muffin, wearing grey joggers and oversized black hoodie (</span>
  <em>
    <span>Armie’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> hoodie!). Maybe it’s because he still is half-asleep, his brain still mushy, floating somewhere there. Maybe it’s because everything is so confusing lately, especially Tim. But he just comes up closer to Tim, standing behind him. Tim tilts his head back, looking up at Armie with a soft smile spread over his lips and wrinkles around his eyes. Maybe it’s the apparent affection in Tim’s features. Maybe it’s because everything about them lately screamed ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>domestic</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ and it’s the most natural thing to just lean down and kiss him. It’s just the peck on the lips. Quick. Almost non-existent. Even Armie realizes what he has done, only after he had pulled back, seeing Tim’s eyes widening in confusion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, fuck I’m sorry,” he says instantly, breathing hard and putting more distance between them. He leans against the counter, trying to come up with something to say. He opens his mouth a few times, but nothing comes out. He is almost ready to get out of there and shut himself in his room for the rest of his life or at least until he could think of some reasonable excuse. He doesn’t have time, because Tim stands up, the chair screeching under the floor and he crowds Armie against the counter, pulling him for a kiss. Armie goes willingly. He kisses him back, not sure what to do with his hands, hesitant to do something inappropriate and unwelcomed. But there is no shyness or uncertainty in Tim’s movements. He deepens the kiss quickly, coaxing Armie’s lips to open, pushing his tongue and licking the inside of Armie’s mouth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh fuck” Armie groans, when Tim’s lips move to suck at his neck, his thigh wedging its way between his legs. He can feel Tim’s hard-on against his thigh, and there is nothing that could stop him from undulating his hips. Pressing Tim firmer against him, relishing the friction and the closeness. He moans when Tim’s fingers skim against the bulge in his pants and he bucks forward, needing more. Armie sinks his fingertips painfully against the soft skin of Tim’s hip bones, he is sure there will be bruises tomorrow, and gives in to his desires, frotting against Tim. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yesss, yess” Tim moans softly, quick, puffy breathes onto Armie’s forearm and Armie bends down to kiss, nibble and suck at the exposed neck. Something possessive rushes through him, wanting to see the skin marked. Tim quickens his movements, humping Armie’s thigh with abandon and with a soft grunt he comes in his pants, going slack against Armie, breathing heavily. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but soon Tim’s hand sneaks between their bodies, gets under the waistband of Armie’s joggers, finding his cock hard and heavy, pre-come leaking from the tip, making Armie groan. It doesn’t take long with efficient pulls of Tim’s hand on Armie’s cock, before his body goes lax, thankful for the counter behind him to give him support. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They end up lazily making out on the couch, Tim spread on top of Armie, perfectly fitting between the v of Armie’s legs. When their lips are chapped and swollen, both of them half-hard in their new pair of pyjama bottoms, they go to the kitchen to reheat the food for Christmas Eve. And if they end up on the couch with food going cold, forgotten on the table, making out like randy teenagers once again, with different outcomes this time, there’s no one other than them to know. Frankly, they have no problems with that.</span>
</p>
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